writing_shadows

Value is both subjective and complex. A thing's worth is judged not by any intrinsic property of the thing itself, but by the value placed on it by a society for one or more of many reasons. Rarity, artistry and utility all create value, as can provenance, antiquity and symbolism.

This is not a new idea by any stretch of the imagination. Lapis lazuli was valuiable because of where it came from. That's what the name means, a stone from Lazhward, and now the name means the stone and the colour and not the place anymore. Money itself only has value because someone says so. Jesus told his people to render unto Caesar that which was Caesar's; the coins bearing Caesar's image were the wealth and power of Rome, but to Christ they were an irrelevance. The Holy Grail itself was known - among other names - as the lapsit exilis; the thing of no worth. To the uninitiated, valueless; to those wise enough to know it, beyond all Earthly price.

People are valued the same way, although we usually don't like to talk about it in quite the same terms. Still, we never relish company so much as when we've been alone, and we make few bones about how much easier and more pleasant it is spending time with people we find attractive. We get more bashful about utility, but it's still true; we value people more highly if they can help us, often overriding considerations of aesthetics and shared interest entirely to be with someone we need for something.

Provenance: royalty, family - for those who have one - country, authority; we bow to them in a million forms and favour 'our sort', or 'that sort' unless we stop to analyse what we're doing, and who doesn't love something different and exotic. Antiquity: we may not respect the odl like they respected the old when they were young, but we certainyl pay scant regard to children who aren't ours. And symbolis: well, we cast people in archetypal moulds all the time and for those roles and appearances we value or reject them.

In some cultures, the Man in the Moon is a Lady, who lived her life among flawless immortal perfection. Once upon a time, so they say, the Lady in the Moon came down upon the Earth and loved a man. On the Earth this man was a simple soldier, without the distinction of family, rank or station, but to the Lady he was the most wonderful, exotic creature she had ever seen. After her flawless world, his very coarseness and simplicity drew her to him.

Once upon another time, a girl went to university. She came from a family with money and power that were gained through strength and force and an enlightened disregard for the law. At university she met a man who had next to nothing; no family at all, no strength or money or power. To the world, he was a skittish little man, busying himself with the trivia of art and academia because he had no stomach to venture out from his ivory tower. To this young woman, however, he was something fine and exotic. She fell in love with him and he with her.

The parallel between the two stories was not exact, of course. The first ends with the lover lying alone on the hillside, looking up with helpless yearning at his untouchable beloved. The second does not even end that happily.

When I first went among Rain's family, I was like a rabbit in a den of foxes. I had nothing to make me valuable to them and I knew it, and feared them because of it.

After my almost death I came to see that, although I was right that nothing of me had value to them, this did not mean I had no value. Indeed, it was the reason that they feared me, because they did not understand me, and perhaps sensed that I could probably do things to harm them that they could not counter.

Maybe that as why they killed me again, and in so doing destroyed - as it turned out - the one thing that held me back from testing that hypothesis. A little learning - especially in handicrafts and chemistry - truly can be a dangerous thing. I doubt they ever knew what hit them.

But the others; they knew. For my life, she had to die, and I had to see it, but she still died by the hands of others and they died by mine. Not for them the swift, hot oblivion of an exploding ankle cuff or electrified golf club. I found them out and put them down like animals. I made sure that they knew why they died and the Puritan must have smiled to see it.

Now I hold in my hand the medallion I made for her. I look in the mirror and she looks back at me. She is pale and lovely, a silver shadow in the moonlight, and I have become a soldier.

Perhaps the parallel is better than I first thought.